Chapter One

The jungle air was thick and damp, clinging to Professor Faye Sinclair’s skin like a second layer. The midday sun filtered through the canopy in fractured beams, illuminating the carved stone beneath her fingertips. Around her, the dense jungle pulsed with life—the distant call of a howler monkey, the rhythmic chatter of cicadas, the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving through the undergrowth. The clearing where the ruins lay had fewer trees, allowing sunlight to reach the ground, where the scent of damp earth mixed with the musk of decaying leaves and the faint sweetness of blooming orchids. The air was rich here, almost intoxicating, the smell of ancient soil stirred by their excavation.

She wiped a strand of chestnut hair from her brow, blinking as she took in the intricate details of the relief she had uncovered on the side of a wall. The carved figure was unmistakably feminine—hips wide, full, low hanging breasts, a slight softness to the stomach, legs spread open in a display that felt both reverent and obscene.

Unnervingly lifelike despite the erosion of time, the worn smoothness of the stone suggested it had been touched—perhaps even worshiped—for generations. The expression on the woman’s face was serene, but something in the sultry curve of her lips and exaggerated opening between her legs, suggested something more primal, erotic.

Faye knew what she was looking at. A fertility carving, no question. But the woman’s body drew her in— perhaps because it looked like her own.

She exhaled slowly, pushing away the strange tension curling in her stomach. It was just another artifact, another glimpse into a lost civilization’s rituals. And yet… she hesitated. Why did this one feel different?

She reached out, fingertips gliding over the curves of the stone, tracing the wide, open space carved into the woman’s form. The stone was warmer here. She frowned, pressing her palm flat against it. That had to be her imagination—the heat of the jungle, the way the sun had warmed the temple walls—but still, it sent a faint, inexplicable shiver down her spine.

For a moment, she swore she felt something else—a pulse, a whisper of energy, like something deep beneath the ruins was stirring. A dull ache settled low in her belly, subtle but insistent. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily.

She swallowed, suddenly aware of the heaviness of the air, of the sweat tracing slow lines down her back, pooling between her breasts.

“Faye! You need to see this!”

Jenny’s voice cut through the thick jungle air, snapping Faye from her trance. She exhaled sharply and turned, stepping carefully over the uneven ground toward her assistant’s voice. Almost ten years younger than Faye’s thirty-seven, Jenny was crouched near the base of a partially excavated wall, her hands brushing dirt from a massive shape emerging from the earth. She was tall and lithe, her body lean in the way of someone who barely seemed to hold weight. With sun-kissed skin, a shirt was knotted at her waist, a pair of cargo shorts on her narrow hips. Where Faye was soft curves and heavy breasts, Jenny was all sharp angles and restless energy.

Faye’s breath caught in her throat as she took it in the object sticking out of the soil. It was a phallus, larger than the others they had uncovered. The sheer scale of it was almost absurd—thick, smooth stone, its surface weathered but still imposing, its shape unmistakably deliberate. Even partially buried, it was clear this was meant to be a centerpiece of whatever forgotten rituals had taken place here.

Faye exhaled, suddenly hyperaware of the oppressive heat. The thick, humid air seemed to grow heavier, wrapping around her like a damp shroud. She reached out and let her fingers graze the cool stone, and instantly a shiver ran up her spine. Her stomach fluttered, something deep and instinctual tightening in her core. The muscles in her thighs twitched, her breath coming shorter, as if the heat of the jungle had pooled low inside her.

She pulled her hand back sharply, flexing her fingers as if to shake off the sensation, but the lingering tingle remained. Her heart was beating too fast. She told herself it was the excitement of the discovery, the sheer magnitude of what they had found, but some part of her knew better.

“Jesus,” Jenny murmured, oblivious to Faye’s reaction. “It’s… incredible, isn’t it?”

Faye forced a tight smile, willing her hand to steady at her side. She stood up abruptly and looked away. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. “Incredible.”

Jenny looked up at her with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay? You look pale?”

“Fine,” Faye replied, trying to sound normal. “It’ll be dark soon. We need to get that thing out of the ground so we can take measurements.”

Jenny nodded, already moving to examine the base of the carving. “You’re right. Help me get the rest of this dirt off.”

Hesitating for a moment, Faye stepped forward, sinking to her knees. The movement pressed her thighs against the fabric of her shorts, the snug fit digging into her skin. Sweat clung to her, making her clothes feel tighter, her full breasts straining against the cotton of her top. She exhaled slowly as she lifted a hand, pausing just before touching the stone, acutely aware of the dampness in her panties.

Jenny grinned, oblivious. “Almost there,” she said rocking the stone phallus.

Faye shuddered, digging her nails into the stone, forcing herself to concentrate.

***

The night was thick with heat, lingering in the tent like an invisible mist. Even with the flaps tied open to let in a breeze, the air inside was humid and stifling, heavy with the scent of earth, sweat, and the jungle.

Faye sighed, running a damp hand through her hair as she reached for the lantern, adjusting the wick until the glow softened. The light flickered, casting shadows along the walls of the tent, making the monstrous carved stone phallus in the corner look even more imposing.

Fifteen inches tall. Tapered. Almost fourteen inches around at its widest point.

They had measured it earlier. But she shouldn’t have been thinking about that now.

She swallowed, shaking the thought away as she reached down, peeling off her sweat-damp cargo shorts and stepping out of them.

Her panties were soaked through—and not just from the heat.

She knew she had been wet earlier, ever since she touched the relief on the ruins, since her fingers traced that carved, open depiction of a woman spread wide.

And it hadn’t just been the posture that caught her attention.

It was the body itself. Wide hips. Soft stomach. Full, heavy breasts that sagged slightly under their own weight. It was her body. Or at least, something eerily close to it.

She had never seen a fertility carving that looked like this. Most were stylized, exaggerated—either plump and rounded in an abstract way, or lean and idealized. But this one had felt… personal. Real.

Faye hesitated, her breath coming shallower as she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her damp underwear. She rolled them down, the fabric peeling away from her lips, and let them drop to the floor.

Her dark pubic hair was thick, untouched for weeks out in the jungle, curling slightly against the dewy heat of her skin. She rarely thought about it—she was here to work, not to care about grooming—but tonight, as she stood there bared and aware, a strange self-consciousness stirred in her.

She flexed her fingers, resisting the urge to brush her fingers through her pubic hair and move lower to see how slick she was.

Instead, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra.

Her full breasts fell free, heavy and unrestrained, the soft weight of them shifting naturally, the pull of gravity making them settle lower. Sweat glistened along the undersides, and faint stretch-marks caught the warm glow of the lantern.

Her nipples hardened instantly in the humid air.

She bent down, gathering up her discarded underwear, and reached for the small laundry bag hanging from a hook near her bed. It was already half-full with the soft, crumpled fabric of past days—damp panties, sweat-soaked bras, clinging to the scent of jungle air and her own skin.

She pushed her dirty panties into the bag, but as she did, the scent rose up—earthy, musky, unmistakably her.

She exhaled, forcing herself to move, reaching for an oversized, baggy cotton T-shirt. She didn’t bother with new panties—it was too damn hot.

Jenny, already undressed, sat cross-legged on her camp bed, topless, wearing only a pair of panties as usual. She looked completely uninhibited, stretching her lean, sun-kissed body, her small breasts bare, stomach taut, legs sprawled in easy comfort.

“Ugh, it’s still so fucking hot,” Jenny muttered, flopping onto her back.

Faye barely heard her. Her gaze had flicked toward the stone phallus in the corner of the tent.

It was still there. Still massive. Still carrying that strange, pulsing energy.

Her thighs shifted, a new dampness already forming between them.

She turned quickly, climbing onto her camp bed, facing away.

Jenny let out a long sigh, stretching her arms over her head. “I said the heat’s unbearable.”

Faye turned, shifting onto her side, the damp sheet sticking to the curve of her hip. Jenny was lying on her back now, one arm draped lazily over her stomach, but her gaze wasn’t on the tent ceiling.

She was staring at the massive stone phallus in the corner.

Faye blinked, following her gaze. It loomed in the dim lantern glow, its smooth, carved surface catching the flickering light, making the tapered head gleam.

Why did it feel like it was watching them?

Jenny’s lips parted slightly. “It’s… powerful.”

Faye tore her eyes away, focusing on Jenny instead. The younger woman’s face was unreadable, her expression somewhere between fascination and longing.

Jenny’s voice was softer when she spoke again. “It’s kinda sexy, don’t you think? I mean, imagine the stories behind it.”

Heat bloomed under Faye’s skin. Her fingers clutched the sheet beneath her. She didn’t want to agree. Didn’t want to acknowledge the pull of it.

But the air was heavy. The scent of damp earth, sweat, and something deeper, muskier, lingered between them.

Faye’s voice came out quieter than she intended. “Yeah.”

Jenny turned her head slightly, eyes meeting hers for a fraction of a second—just long enough to feel like she had been caught.

But then Jenny let out a small laugh and shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “So… do you miss home?”

Faye exhaled, the change of subject a welcome distraction. “Yeah.”

Jenny tilted her head. “Beth, right?”

Faye nodded. “She’s eight now. Staying with my mom while I’m out here.”

Saying it out loud made her chest tighten. She had only been able to talk to Beth a couple of times when they took the jeep into Pueblo de las Piedras, the nearest village. No cell signal out in the jungle. No way to check in.

“She must miss you like crazy.”

Faye smiled, but it felt thin. “Yeah. I miss her more, though.”

Jenny hummed in understanding, her fingers idly twisting a strand of mousy hair. “And… what about male company?”

Faye’s stomach tensed. She knew where this was going.

Jenny smirked slightly. “I mean, we’ve been out here alone for weeks now. No men. No real distractions. Don’t tell me you’re not at least a little frustrated.”

Faye tried to laugh it off. “I’m surviving.”

Jenny propped her head up on her hand, grinning. “And Ben? You must be dying to see him.”

Faye hesitated for half a second too long. “Yeah. Sure.”

But even as she said it, she felt the weight of something unsaid. Ben had been distant before she left. Not outright cold, but expecting more from her than she had to give. As a single mom and a full-time archaeologist, there was never enough time. He wanted commitment, control, things she couldn’t offer—not in the way he wanted.

Jenny didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. She had already turned her attention back toward the monstrous phallus.

Her voice was almost dreamy. “I feel like I should touch it.”

Faye’s breath caught. She didn’t need to hear that. Not now.

She turned onto her back quickly. “I need to get some sleep.”

Jenny sighed, stretching again. “Yeah. Me too.”

A moment later, she leaned over, extinguished the lantern and darkness enveloped the tent.

Faye lay still, her body tense, listening to the sounds of the jungle outside—the chirping insects, the occasional hoot of a night bird, the rustling of leaves as something small moved through the undergrowth.

Beside her, Jenny shifted in bed and let out a whimper. Then murmured, “Please...”

After another whimper, she fell quiet.

Faye squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to think about it. But even as her eyelids grew heavy and she willed herself to sleep, the pulse between her legs wouldn’t go away.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the jungle sounds fading as her breathing slowed. Sleep pulled her under, and then, suddenly, she was in the temple. Not the ruins outside on the dig site. Not amongst the crumbling stone and broken carvings. But in the real temple. Whole. Untouched. Alive.

The torches burned low, casting flickering gold light on the stone walls. The air was thick with incense and something richer, something primal.

Faye stood at the edge of a great chamber, her heart pounding.

A circle of women sat on the polished stone floor, their bodies bare, glistening with sweat, each of them seated astride a massive stone phallus.

Some had their eyes closed, lost in pleasure. Others were watching each other, mouths parted, breathless, gasping.

At the center, a woman rode the largest phallus of them all.

Wide hips. Soft stomach. Heavy, swaying breasts.

It was Faye’s body. Yet it wasn’t her.

The woman moaned, rolling her hips, lifting slightly before sinking back down onto the massive shaft. The room was filled with the sounds of slick, deep movement, bodies shifting, gasps, the unmistakable pulse of something ancient and unrelenting.

And then the woman at the center, reached between her legs and circled her clitoris with her finger. She came, back arching, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

As she lifted off the glistening phallus, her eyes opened.

And she was looking at Faye. Smiling. Knowing.

Faye woke with a start.

She shuddered, heart pounding against her ribs. The thick jungle air pressed down on her, heavy and humid, clinging to her skin. The tent was dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the partially open flap, but she could still see it—the dream lingering behind her eyelids.

The temple. The flickering torches. The women riding in ritual ecstasy.

And her—the woman in the center, the one with her body, the wide hips and full, hanging breasts, stretched around something massive. The woman had locked eyes with her, her lips parting in a breathless moan, and Faye had felt it, felt everything.

She exhaled shakily and shifted her legs beneath the thin sheet.

That’s when she felt it—the wetness, the heat. The way she was open.

A slow, electric pulse rolled through her, deep in her core, as she became aware of just how slick and sensitive she was. Her thighs were damp, her swollen flesh slick with arousal, and when she shifted again, she could feel the way her own wetness clung to her inner thighs.

She squeezed her legs together, but the ache only deepened, the absence of contact making her clit throb.

Faye swallowed hard, face burning, fingers flexing against the sheet. She knew she shouldn’t. Knew she should just roll over, take deep breaths, and push the dream away. But God, the feeling wouldn’t fade.

Her body was begging for release.

Slowly, hesitantly, she let her hand drift lower, her fingertips brushing against the slick heat between her thighs. She trembled. So wet. So open.

She spread herself slightly, and the air against her bare skin made her shiver. The phantom stretch of the dream still lingered, a tingling sensation that had no right to be there. Her fingers slipped inside—two, then three, then four until her breath snagged.

Biting her lip, she circled her clit with her thumb, her touch feather-light at first, just enough to tease herself—just enough to feel how open she was, how easy her fingers slid against her own wetness. A quiet, shaky sigh escaped her.

She tried to keep still, to be silent, but her body betrayed her, hips lifting slightly as the tension inside her coiled tighter, hotter.

The dream pulsed behind her eyelids. The woman on the stone, her body quivering, her mouth parting in a cry of pleasure.

And in the darkness of the tent, the stone phallus loomed in the corner, its massive silhouette unavoidable, undeniable, pulsing with energy.

Faye’s breath caught and her thumb moved faster.

Her thighs trembled, her body tensing, desperate for release. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting down on the edge of the sheet as a sharp, hot wave crashed through her, the orgasm hitting hard and fast.

Her entire body jerked, muscles straining, her toes curling into the thin mattress. The jungle sounds outside seemed distant, muffled beneath the pounding of her own heartbeat.

Then, silence. For a long moment, she just lay there, skin damp with sweat, body still pulsing with aftershocks. She exhaled slowly, her fingers sliding away, her thighs still parted, the cool air kissing her slick, open flesh.

Her eyes fluttered open, and her gaze drifted toward the phallus at the end of the tent.

It stood there in the dim moonlight, unmoving. Faye had never believed in spirits. Never believed in ancient energies, in lost gods whispering from the ruins of forgotten civilizations. But as she lay there, her body still open, still wet, the jungle breathing softly around her, she wondered. Had she really just dreamed? Or was it something more?